


sehnsucht

by IrisParry



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon-Typical Awful People, M/M, No TRoS Spoilers, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-19 01:30:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22003072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisParry/pseuds/IrisParry
Summary: General Hux returns from an audience with Supreme Leader Snoke in triumph, given approval to begin the great project he has long planned. He cannot explain the strange, unsettled feeling that returns with him.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 23
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this in MAY 2017, i.e even before TLJ, so even though I enjoyed both TLJ and TROS they basically have little bearing here because I already had the outline and/or a lot of the writing down before I saw them and then I still wanted to explore the ideas. Both films got me excited about Star Wars again and working on this and other bits some more.
> 
> I'm on twitter and tumblr with the same username.

Hux had seldom been so glad to see the sun. Tilting his face up toward the light, he took what felt like the first clean, clear breath in a long time, closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to adjust. The sounds of the wind in the trees, of creatures calling - wild, planetside noises - were usually somewhat disconcerting compared to the regular, mechanical soundscape aboard ship, but they were a blessed relief after the deathly quiet of Snoke's halls. Snoke was prone to letting a silence hang, sitting back in the shadows while the great tectonic plates of his mind shifted, grinding and momentous. Standing before him, waiting, Hux fancied he could hear his own heart pump, his bones creak; soft, vulnerable noises booming into the quiet. 

It was not the first time he'd been in the Supreme Leader's presence, and Hux had expected it to be easier - especially as he came to him successful, on the cusp of even greater victory, the plans for the weapon perfect in every detail. He had been congratulated, even praised, given the final authority to proceed with his project. He'd also been given the strong urge to drop to all fours and be sick and if he didn't know better, hadn't performed the scans personally before landing, he would suspect that the planet, the stone of the halls, maybe even Snoke himself, exuded some sort of radiation, something that weakened the body with each exposure rather than allowing acclimatisation. Hux felt suddenly cold in the pale sunlight, suddenly conscious of the damp patches of sweat beneath his arms and the trembling of his muscles. He had been aware of none of this as he'd made his presentation, his absolute confidence carrying him through, but it was hitting him now, like waking up with a hangover. 

"General."

A fresh wave of nausea rose at Ren's greeting, and Hux clamped his teeth together. It was almost certainly some sort of Force nonsense, then, given that Ren seemed unaffected. Had they been given to metaphysical discussion Hux might have asked him about it, but it didn't matter. They were leaving, and there had not been any enduring effects last time. Ren likely had millennia to go before he became powerful enough to turn Hux's stomach like this from his mere presence, and he'd probably get himself killed much sooner anyway.

Hux swallowed, tucked his hands behind his back and carefully did not turn his head.

"Well then, Ren," he said, "It seems we must work more closely."

The role of the kyber crystals meant a Force user was essential in the construction of the weapon, in choosing sites and supervising handling of the stuff, monitoring the flow of the dark energy. It occurred to Hux that despite several years of ostensible co-command of the Finalizer, he barely knew Ren. It had always been obvious the part the man would need to play, of course, since Snoke certainly wasn't going to be shifting his arse across the galaxy for site inspections and planning meetings, but it struck him now with a peculiar shiver. 

Ren appeared unmoved, for the most part, still and quiet, but he was unmasked and he ran his gloved hand back over his hair. Once, then twice. His eyes were distant, and Hux could not say what might have troubled him. Snoke was as effusive in his praise for Ren's efforts as Hux's. Perhaps the place got to him as well. The thought, once formed, was not actually all that comforting.

"There is little time to waste," Ren said. "Unless you’d like to take the air some more?"

Hux sighed and started walking, leaving Ren to catch him up again. He could have sworn he heard a snort of amusement. Marvellous. The day Hux tried to initiate a collegiate conversation was the same day Ren decided to be childish and obtuse. Well, let him. As long as it didn't interfere with the work. Hux would try again with him tomorrow. It would make things easier if they could get on, but Hux wasn't about to waste energy trying to make friends. Certainly not tonight, anyway. Tonight called for a drink, in more amiable company. Hopefully by the time they returned to the Finalizer his skull would no longer feel a couple of sizes too small. 

Hux followed the faint path through the woods to the shuttle, and perhaps it was the lingering effect of that cursed silence but he found himself straining to hear the light thump and crackle of Ren's steps behind him. He was grateful to be leaving this place - and, oddly enough, that he had not been alone in it.

*

It happened sometimes, after he had been in his master's presence. The visions. At first, he cringed to remember, he had been  _ disappointed _ , expecting the place to seethe with dark energy, rolling off the stone walls like the mist. He had been young. His thinking had been so crude. There was power in the place, but it was a subtle, creeping thing. One had to be attuned, receptive rather than impatient, to be able to settle into the flow of energies rather than seeking immediately to redirect them. They would not listen, and made little effort to be heard. The indifference had felt crushing, but Kylo had learned to tap into it, become part of it. In that place, his senses were heightened, if he had the wit to know it and to use them, and something of that always seemed to linger, to allow strands of knowledge to float through his mind more readily. 

It was the same this time - except. He chastised himself for his complacency. Something felt different, and had he the discipline he would have identified it already. It was like the damp air of Snoke's halls clung to his skin, seeped into his pores with a chill he could not shake off, an uncomfortable, greasy feeling. And the vision, it was just snatches; like a flickering bulb, staticky and weak. 

The shuttle was no place to meditate. Hux sat opposite him. The feeling persisted: that if Hux were to look at him now, at his uncovered face, he would see more than Kylo cared to show. It was absurd. The man knew nothing of the Force. Yet Kylo had felt a powerful urge to cover himself, trailing behind him through the woods, replacing his mask with uncommon haste. Something was different, and as he watched Hux he felt conscious of the blood-heat of his own cheeks, and of his scalp prickling with sweat. He watched, safely hidden from Hux, and as the sense of the shuttle’s motion lulled him the vision began to overlay, to coalesce in front of him. 

Hux’s head was lowered to his datapad, but as Kylo  _ saw _ the general looked up and his features twisted. Wild eyes. Gritted teeth. Fear, burning him up and pouring from him like smoke. 

Kylo’s heart was hammering. His grip was tight around the hilt of his saber.

No. He breathed through it, brought himself back. There had been a cry caught in his throat, furious anger, rage, and he had felt the thrill of the weapon’s ignition so keenly. 

No, he could not meditate in the shuttle. He was too close to Snoke still, everything amplified but overwhelmingly so, little more than white-noise. Back in his quarters, he would see more clearly. He would not fear  _ Hux _ , a general with a clerk’s frame, no battlefield commander. Yet the feeling of vulnerability, of having been wrong-footed, dogged him all the way back to the Finalizer. In the vision, there had been more than rage in his cry: it was terror that echoed in his mind. He could not allow that. Any of it.

  
  


*

  
  


Hux awoke with a start. Sweat lathered his body and the sheet clung to him, twined around his legs as though he had tossed and turned through the night. It felt wet and unpleasant, smothering, and in a brief flurry of panic he kicked the bedclothes away, scrabbling to sit up until the headboard was reassuringly solid at his back. 

He pulled his damp undershirt off over his head and dabbed at his face and neck, taking deep, steadying breaths. He had not drunk anywhere near enough last night to deserve waking in such a state. Hux had returned to his quarters relatively early in the evening, in spite of Phasma’s protestations, and still in full possession of his faculties. In part he had been keen to remain capable of an early start the following day, keen to finally begin the great work he had been preparing for so long. 

The strange aura of Snoke’s planet had not entirely left him, however. Last night in the officers’ lounge and now, at whatever delicate hour of the morning it was, the feeling persisted, pulsed at his temples, churned in his belly. Getting up to splash cold water on his face his muscles felt sluggish, beyond the lingering heaviness of sleep. 

Hux had intended to head straight into the sonic, but something drew him out and into the main space of his quarters, a crawling at the back of his neck. He could find no other way to put it at that moment, and the imprecision irritated, but .... something did not feel  _ right _ .

Towelling down the sweat from his chest and back, he did a circuit of the room, the durasteel floor cold beneath his bare feet, and he peered suspiciously at his furniture and possessions. He had not paid the place much mind when he returned the night before, tired and intent on his bed, but now he ordered the lights up to 75%, scanning for anything amiss.

The droids had been, as usual, and the place was clean and neat according to his preference. He found himself wondering if one or two items were exactly as they should be, the cups stacked on the side in the kitchenette, the settings at the table - he shook his head, pressed the towel to his eyes until he saw spots. He was being ridiculous. 

In any case, there was an easy enough way to be sure that no intruder had stolen into his quarters and moved his tea things around. He checked the security log on his datapad. There. No unauthorised access. 

Hux headed back to the ‘fresher, keen to rinse off this unseemly episode. It was almost certainly the damned Force. He had been exposed to a very powerful source of that energy, and it worked in mysterious ways. 

Hux hated  _ mystery. _

His body just needed to sweat it out, like a virus, through some paranoid fever in the night. It would pass. It was already passing.

  
  


*

  
  


The chair hit the wall with a crash. The sound racked Kylo’s head with pain, dropped him to his knees. Nothing. Hours, and he’d seen nothing, no new insights, no sharpening of the initial impressions. 

The pitiful attempt at meditation had only gotten worse as time went on. His frustration got the better of him and he strained toward the images. The more he grabbed at them, like a greedy child, the more they slipped through his fingers. Letting them go, leaving them as they were, brought the burn of bile to the back of his throat, the sting of failure to his belly, but he had no choice. It was all he could do anymore, tonight at least. 

Kylo sat back on his heels, centring himself. He brought his focus back to his breath, the chest, the diaphragm, the flow of energy. There was a lesson here. He just had to find it.

Visions were never simple, but Kylo had not felt thwarted in this way for some time. A warning, then, against egotism. Arrogance. Presumption. 

Kylo blinked open his eyes. Presumption. Hux was an annoyance, small-minded, mistaking rigidity of thought for mental discipline. A bureaucrat, a necessary evil for an undertaking on this scale. But what more than that? Short-tempered, certainly, though he tried to conceal it. In the vision, the scraps Kylo had managed to hold on to, that facade had shattered utterly. 

Kylo sighed, combing his hair back from his face. He was tired. Any useful insight was slithering away from him. Humility had to remain, humility and vigilance. There was so much he did not yet know, of the Force, of his own power and its limits. Hux’s contorted expression rose up in Kylo’s thoughts again, the freezing drench of fear and the hum of the saber in his own hand. There was so much he did not know of the General, of the secret horrors of Hux’s mind. Perhaps Kylo would be one of them, in the end.


	2. Chapter 2

Hux turned his collar up against the wind that rattled the gantry, its icy fingers creeping beneath his greatcoat nonetheless. It wouldn’t do to be seen lumbering around in layers of fur like a lost wampa cub, to look insulated from the realities of work on the ground as much as from the cold, but Hux found himself wondering if some sort of fleeced underlayer would have altered his distinctive silhouette all that much. At least he’d made a hat part of his image, he thought ruefully, and of a size that could host a small heating pack.

The project was taking shape before him, down in the valley, testament to his foresight in other respects. Workers and droids scurried like ants, darkening tracks into the snow between the pits and the scaffolding towers, and tree stumps spotted the higher slopes where the excavators hadn’t been up to root them out yet. He would be unmistakable from down there, regardless of the distance: a lone figure surveying the site, his shoulders set and his coat billowing. Steadfast and watchful.

Well. Not quite a lone figure. The hair on the back of Hux’s neck had begun to prickle.

“Ren,” he said, tipping his head in greeting.

“General,” came the reply, and then came the shadow sliding into his peripheral vision, materialising at his side. Ren was swaddled in several shades of black, robe and cowl and hood, his mask and gloves shining where the great drapes did not cover. He did not speak, but Hux had found he preferred that to some meaningless prattle. For all his faults - and there were several - at least the _master of the Knights of Ren_ was not one for small talk. Hux smiled to himself.

“Something amuses you,” Ren said, in that way he had. He seldom asked a question, as if that would imply that someone knew something he didn’t. He’d stated his observation as a fact, expecting Hux to scrabble to justify it. The man really was preposterous. There was something admirable about the confidence, the way he automatically centred himself, drew everyone else in toward him. Like a black hole.

Hux parried gently. “Will the news from that troublesome kyberite deposit amuse me?”

“With your primitive understanding, it might well,” Ren bristled, and Hux suppressed another smile as they continued back and forth. The vein in the southeast sector was behind schedule, though within acceptable limits and therefore of concern to Hux only insofar as it was of concern to Ren. Ren had explained the difficulties they might encounter at the outset, especially with operatives who were not Force-sensitive, and it seemed this was all to be expected - the migraines, the extreme sleeplessness, the more unseemly psychological side-effects of too long spent in the mine.

Ren had altered the shift patterns again, to reduce wastage, such minutiae of greater interest to him as a specialist than to Hux as overseer of the whole business. As he spoke, gruff staccato from behind the mask, the freezing wind gusted again, brought the fresh scent of the felled trees up to them on the creaking platform. Hux wondered if Ren could smell it, or if it was filtered out. He found himself thinking again of Snoke’s planet, of winding his way through the deep woods with Ren close behind. 

This Force-sickness in the miners did not seem to be the same affliction that dogged Hux after their audience with Snoke, and he could not find reassurance in that. There were nights when Hux longed for a symptom as straightforward as a migraine, as easily put right. The medscans found nothing. He had them administered by droids of late, not wishing to see concern creep into the faces of humanoid clinicians - to hear _overdoing it_ , to hear _stress-related._ To know they meant _weakness._ The security logs were not illuminating either, no unauthorised visitors, no disturbance to the items he carefully positioned before leaving for his shifts. Things the cleaning droids would not move but a careless intruder might jostle, leaving minute evidence that a somehow undetected interference with the security feed could not clean up.

But then, he did not entirely expect those avenues of investigation to prove fruitful, not really. This was … something else, something dashing him against the limits of his understanding.

“Hux?”

Hux jolted out of his thoughts as if Ren had struck him. Ren was closer, as he turned, and how long had he gripped the railing so tightly? Hux felt his cheeks flush. He took a discreet step away as he cleared his throat, tearing his eyes from the looming mask. 

He had thought so often of asking Ren, and buried the instinct as many times. He did so now, though their comradely conversation lured him, told him he could have an ally - an _ally_. An ally suggested an adversary, and Hux bolted down that hatch before Ren could see the treacherous crack of light.

“I apologise,” he said curtly, swallowing down the momentary terror. Ren was not a colleague he could unburden himself to, as he had with his fellow lieutenants so long ago now; and as he felt the now-familiar pressure begin, like someone was turning a screw in his skull, he reminded himself that Ren might be behind this disturbance, might be his continuing exposure. “I apologise, I have a great deal on my mind.”

“I understand,” Ren said, and for a moment he seemed to, looking out across the valley, his shoulders tense and his voice almost soft. 

Hux’s stomach lurched, and the scent of the pine sap and fresh earth filled his nostrils like a primitive warning. In his memory of that wild planet Ren became a part of the landscape, some prowling creature, Hux’s back turned to him unawares. He could not trust Ren, and he could not forget it.

*

Kylo could put an end to it very simply. He could be sure, of the general’s loyalty, even of the meaning of the things he saw, if he could just - 

Kylo rolled over onto his back, bedsheets tugging down to his waist as he stretched, sighed, tried to clear the desire from his mind. He could not _just_ read Hux’s thoughts, even if it were as light a matter as he pretended in his moments of weakness. Supreme Leader forbade it, long ago; said Kylo was yet too undisciplined, too _eager_. Kylo had disliked the sound of that, though as the frustration rose up inside he knew it to be true. Now, at least. Since their meeting with Snoke, Kylo wanted so badly to see, to know. In his urgency he would be a great risk to the General. 

_And what risk is the General_ , said the treacherous voice in his mind. _Why is there such fear and anger in your futures?_

Kylo pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, letting out a growl of annoyance in the dark of his room. Nothing had helped. Nothing had made the vision any clearer to him. Stillness and silence. Meditation through the forms, through movement and energy flow. The last of the tea, its leaves from the site of a Force nexus, carefully harvested and dried, delicate and potent. Nothing like the hideous tarine tea Hux swigged by the bucketful, laced with stims and sugars and -

He smiled at the thought of it, he realised, of the minor annoyances and eccentricities he had come to know. How much easier it would have been, if there had been more - more hostility, more antagonism, signals to interpret the vision by. Instead they had grown accustomed to one another, like neighbouring clerks in some New Republic administration district. 

The most he could ascertain was that Hux appeared to be unwell, somehow. He had odd moments where it showed. His judgement, however, remained sound. Though he learned more of the Force as the project went on, he was willing to defer to Kylo where he ought, to acknowledge his strength was elsewhere. Kylo was _grateful_ , and sometimes it clenched his heart into a fist.

He did not wish to be taken for a fool. He did not wish to _be_ a fool.

Something had happened to Hux earlier today at the site. He drifted from their conversation, swooned as if suddenly he felt the enormity of what they did there, in the snow and the pines, in the deep heart of the planet. In the unsuspecting galaxy. _I understand_ , Kylo had told him, and he hoped that he did. The suspicion still dragged his feet, clapped him in irons, and he could not entirely let it go. This uneasy partnership with the General could only go so far, while the mystery of him remained.

Kylo had left the site exhausted, his brain filled with the empty buzzing that had followed him from Snoke’s planet. The effects of the southeast kyberite seam, he supposed. The similarity was something to store away for another day. Lacking the focus to meditate on it, tired of meditating to no end, he had taken to the training rooms until he could barely stand. 

He could not say exactly when his aching body finally pulled his mind down into unconsciousness. In the morning, he could not say whether it all came from his imagination, still clinging pathetically to the easy way, or if it was a portent of his breaking. What would it be like, to reach and to take; to abandon caution, and patience, and even their fragile trust. It came to him, from somewhere or nowhere. He saw Hux’s eyes screwed closed, his perfectly smoothed hair in disarray. Sweat beaded at his temples and his mouth gasped in silence, as if he withstood some terrible torture. Kylo felt the height of his fear, and the heat of his skin; felt that this step was the irrevocable one, the one that damned them both.

*

Across the ship, in the dead of a false night, Hux’s tea cup dropped from his trembling hand and shattered on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems to be be updating Saturday night / Sunday morning (any similarities to the Alan Sillitoe novel of that name are unlikely and unintentional).


	3. Chapter 3

“I was particularly impressed with the initial reconnaissance,” Hux said, pouring two judicious measures from his office bottle. He did not make a habit of it during ship’s day, but he found that he did not wish to let his buoyant mood go. “Surprise is a narrow window,” he continued, raising a finger for emphasis. “Once that’s over there must be solid intelligence to rely on as well as boldness.” 

Captain Phasma had removed her helmet, and she nodded as he spoke. Her face was often as much of a mask uncovered, and he could not quite tell how far she humoured him. True, Hux had little occasion to concern himself with small unit tactics these days, but he had nonetheless undergone a thorough military education and was far from ignorant on such matters. He handed her one of the cups, and she nodded again in silent thanks.

The simulation was a fairly standard assault on a fixed position, and the cadet squad had performed admirably in destroying the New Republic bunker’s heavy repeating blasters and taking the installation over. They were the first class to have undergone the redesigned programme, and though he had remained stoic in the observation suite he could not suppress his excitement at their progress behind the closed door of his bridge office. It was welcome in itself, of course, but watching the cadets over this intensive week reviewing the final phase of the training, his lingering concerns about the Force-sickness, or whatever it was that plagued him, had faded into the background. For how long remained to be seen.

“Economical work too,” he pointed out, shaking off the thought, moving behind his desk and calling up the statistical projection. 

“Perhaps a little too much,” Phasma said, approaching the data screen, its reflection shining in the plates of her armour. Her voice was smooth as ever, though a little distant, and her frown pulled at the scar tissue that covered much of the right side of her face. The effect was odd, with her brow drawing down and the side of her mouth drawing up. It was an expression that often prefaced a particularly useful insight, Hux had learned.

“How’s that?” he prompted. New wave troopers represented a far more significant investment of time and resources for the Order, and thresholds of acceptable loss were accordingly far lower.

The captain did not answer at once, sipping her brandy as she navigated to a particular point in the simulation recording. “There,” she said, as they watched FN-2003 fall behind during the advance and become pinned down by enemy fire. 

“Ah,” Hux said. The squad leader had switched the entire assault plan on the fly in order to collect 2003, sending the rest of his troops out in risky diversions. “You have high hopes for 2187, do you not?” The leader had achieved exemplary marks throughout the programme. 

“I am concerned he may be unduly attached to 2003,” she said, disappointment creeping into her voice. With the cadet, or herself, or a little of both. “This is not the first time he has … protected him. Covered for a weaker link.”

Hux strolled over to the viewport, feeling more relaxed than he had in some time. The great weapon hung like an ominous moon among the stars outside, his drink burned pleasantly at the back of his throat, and the problem of 2187’s sentimentality was ultimately a relatively minor one that the programme had contingencies in place to correct. 

“Perhaps a refresher of the third conditioning module?” he suggested. Phasma grunted in agreement behind him, still reviewing the data. “And the rest of the squad too,” he added. “They look to 2187, and he could have set an unfortunate example.”

A companionable silence descended, Phasma scrolling through the simulation’s plans, overhead stills and biofeedback, Hux sipping his drink as he stared out of the viewport, allowing himself a rare moment of contentment. The weapon’s equatorial trench was clearly visible now, and it still filled him with awe when he saw it from orbit.

He had done that. An entire planet, irrevocably transformed at his design. His, and Ren’s, without whom he could not have cracked routing the quintessence to the planetary core. The shiver he felt at that admission was a peculiar one, still tinged with an abiding wariness. It was harder and harder to remember that Ren might be the cause of his malaise. The things they had accomplished together, the ease that crept into their interactions, the way his ideas came sharper with Ren there to whet them ... all of these things conspired to push his doubts and fears to the fringes of his thoughts. 

Their lingering traces, perhaps, made the work with Ren all the more invigorating. The man was powerful, and dangerous, and likely had been bearing Hux some ill will, and yet here they were in such a partnership. Hux dared to think, sometimes, that he might have impressed Ren himself. Won him over, even - no. No, that sort of talk smacked of _sides_ , and was not safe. Was not useful. Not relevant.

Hux’s thoughts on the matter felt clearer with the benefit of distance - from Ren, while he and his so-called knights chased down rumours of the Jedi, and from the incident in his quarters. The sudden, strangely exhilarating rush of sensation that had racked him as he refilled his tea in the small hours, his heart spiking and his skin burning, hands spasming open and closed of their own accord. The night had until then been sleepless through choice, through the pleasure of an uninterrupted flow of work; the same could not be said for the rest of it, or the several nights that followed. They had all seen some shadow of the unsettling experience blossom in his mind as he undressed for bed, or as he lay down, had seen him drenched in the horrendous feeling of _wrongness_ , maddening and all-encompassing, nothing so straightforward as pain anymore.

He had been spared of late, as had his tea things, and Hux had come to grudgingly accept that he might need to rethink the stim blend he’d been adding to the brew. Mundane explanations seemed more convincing now, the months of suspicion and paranoia wearing him down. 

Unless, he thought, with a sour feeling in his stomach, this was part of the plan: to erode his sense of self-preservation bit by bit, to lull him into a false sense of security. To have him off guard and blaming his tea, of all things. Hux scowled, and knocked back the last of his drink.

Phasma raised an eyebrow at that. She had crossed the room to join him at the viewport, the data projection shut down. “I’ve initiated the protocol for FN-2003,” she said, hint of a crease between her brows. She didn’t like to fall back on it, seemed to take it a little personally.

“Good,” Hux replied absently. He had been rather looking out for another opportunity to test it. He rolled his empty cup back and forth between his hands, the calm of moments before lost to him through his drift back to thoughts of Ren, and what in hell his game might be. “We need to deal with them both,” he said firmly, a little too loudly, turning his attention determinedly back to the cadets. “Pointless sentiment demeans the recipient as much as the fool who doles it out.”

“Indeed?” Phasma cocked her head to look at him, with a sly, curious expression.

Hux blinked in confusion. “What?”

She looked at him for a moment longer before she turned back to the stars. Her mask of indifference slipped back into place, although a certain lightness remained in her tone. “I thought I had observed some change,” she said thoughtfully. “Since the project began.” 

“Speak plainly, will you?”

Phasma glanced down into her cup, swirling the last of the liquid. “If you would rather, we can leave the matter,” she said carefully, and the frown twisted at her face again. “But is all ... well?” At his continuing blank expression, she sighed and added, “Between yourself and Kylo Ren?”

*

Kylo almost ran down the ramp from the shuttle, hopping off the end just as it touched down onto the durasteel of the docking bay. He had spent the approach to the Finalizer in an agony of suppressed movement, fists clenching and teeth grinding, barely able to stop his feet from tapping. His knights called after him as he left the bay in haste, puzzlement and poor jokes about flight sickness, but he could hardly hear them.

His breath was deafening inside the mask and his boots rang in the corridors, troopers and officers rushing out of his path, and something was _happening -_

They’d come to him again, as they sometimes did on the journey back to the ship. The visions, the half-visions, the jumbled fragments. He was tired, more passive, better able to observe than to strain and send them fleeing. The night-time vision, the half-dream, returned in violent flares, and for a moment Kylo had felt a strong grip on his hand, knitted with his fingers, as if Hux had reached out to him in his torment. The closer they came to the ship the more it twisted, filled his head with the anger and the urgency of the things he had seen after leaving the Supreme Leader. Hux’s face, the dizzying blend of fear and rage; the blaster, then the saber. 

A voice cried out, _No!_ , piercing and terrible, grating at all of his senses. By the time the shuttle docked he knew something had changed. Knew he had to run.

The shout echoed in Kylo’s mind like a discordant alarm as he pounded down the halls, and when he reached Hux’s office he slammed a fist into the door entry panel. It sparked, hissed, and opened.

“What the _hell_?!” Kylo was wrestling his mask off and heard the General’s outraged splutter. The door rattled closed behind him.

“This is how it is, is it?” Hux demanded, bristling with rage mere feet away on the other side of the desk. “Of course. Of course! You waltz into my quarters at your leisure, of course you should barge your way into my office as you like!” He snatched up a cup and took a belt of whatever was inside. 

Kylo set down the mask. His hands still resting on it, he tried to collect himself. “Something’s ... wrong,” he managed. The one thing he was sure of. Kylo’s chest was heaving, his brain practically sizzling. Something was in motion, and he had needed so badly to find Hux.

“Something’s _wrong_ ?” Hux yelled, incredulous. “Everything’s wrong!” He was pacing now, between the desk and the viewport that stretched the length of the room. Kylo watched him, spellbound. Hux’s words were bland but Kylo felt them, their tremors in the Force. “It’s worse when you’re here,” Hux was saying, despair edging into his voice. “It’s all worse, it’s _you_.” 

He turned to Kylo, his eyes wide with horror, his gloved palm pressed to his own mouth.

He was right. Kylo moved without any thought of it, with nothing but instinct. He had not felt this even deep inside the kyberite mine. He had felt it standing with Hux up on the gantry. He felt it when the General’s face came to him in the night. Hux was not backing away from him, now, behind the desk. Now they were together again. The cry and the terror. The smell of the trees and the earth. Everything _was_ wrong. It had to _stop_ -

His hand was on Hux’s shoulder. The few seconds of confusion that followed were an eternity. Their eyes met, and Kylo’s breath caught, before Hux jerked away as if the touch burned. 

“Are there any liberties you won’t try to take?” Hux hissed. He passed his hand over his face, and Kylo saw his eyes squeeze shut as he did so. “I know what you’ve been doing,” he continued, backing up and gesturing with the cup. “It’s useless to deny it.”

Hux’s accusations were a sideshow. There was something almost tangible in the room, thickening the air between them, and Kylo could not let understanding pass him by again. He needed to stay present, to allow it. His heart pounded. All he could do was stare. 

“You’re going to make me go through this?” Hux stuttered. “Alright then.” He snatched up his datapad and jabbed at it. “Care to explain why you’ve been granted full access to my quarters? At any time?” Kylo took the datapad when Hux thrust it at him, but he kept his eyes on Hux instead of the screen, on his wild eyes and the angry red spots high on his cheeks. “Want to tell me why all of my security protocols are overridden? For _you_ , and you alone?”

“I have never been in your quarters,” Kylo said slowly. He did not need the data to know that.

“Phasma saw you!”

“What?”

“She must have! Spotted you slinking in at some dreadful hour.” Hux’s narrow shoulders were shaking. “Do you know she thought we were having an - an _affair_?” He turned to pace the room again, face redder than ever.

“You’re ... mistaken,” Kylo began, and Hux wheeled around, snatching up a tea cup from his sideboard. Kylo stopped it before it could smash against the wall, held it frozen, and that only seemed to make Hux angrier.

“Don’t you dare!” His voice cracked, and he drew a deep, fast breath to keep shouting. “I am not mad! I have _evidence_!”

Kylo let the next cup break, let himself feel it, the rage and fear. It was all here, simmering between them, the seeds of it - of what would grow and bloom into that first maddening vision. Kylo felt rooted to the spot. He did not reach for his saber, did not answer the violence with violence. He let it wash over him. He thought of reaching out to Hux again.

This - this was not the same, he saw, and he was so absorbed by the realisation that he had to duck physically to stop another cup striking his shoulder. In the vision, their feeling came from somewhere deep and raw. This, now, felt like … a lie? A shadow. 

His stillness finally seemed to break something in Hux, who sagged and stared at the broken pottery on the floor as if it held some answers for him. A vicious headache reared up and stabbed at Kylo’s temples, white dots flashing in his vision. As the pain turned its vice on him he kept his eyes on Hux, who was pinching the bridge of his nose as if he felt the same. 

They were doing this to each other, then. Though it seemed neither of them knew how. Or why. 

“Get out,” Hux said, small and defeated, and Kylo did not know why that hurt too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HBO war fans may have noted that the troopers were carrying out an assault on Space Brecourt Manor.


End file.
